Clint Hill - Mrs. Kennedy and Me - An Intimate Memoir

One day I was standing on the boat landing, when the husband came down the stone steps, carrying a big bowl.

“Buongiorno!” he said with a huge smile.

“Buongiorno!” I replied.

That was about the extent of our ability to converse with each other, so I just smiled and let him do whatever he needed to do. I watched as he knelt down on the concrete landing and peered into the water below. All of a sudden he thrust his right arm into the water and when his hand came out he had hold of a baby squid.

Mama mia! Did he really just do that?

He immediately put the squid’s head into his mouth, bit it off and spit it out. I couldn’t believe it. Never in my life had I seen such a thing.

He put the headless squid into the bowl and proceeded to repeat the procedure four or five times. He looked at me, and smiling broadly, said something in Italian, and then took the bowl of fresh squid and raced up the stairs.

A short while later, a wonderful aroma came wafting down the stairs. I looked up and saw the caretaker coming down the steps with a pasta bowl in his hands. He handed me the bowl, with a fork and big spoon, and indicated that I should eat it now. The homemade linguine was drenched in a flavorful garlic and olive oil sauce, all mixed together with a generous portion of fresh calamari. It was absolutely delicious. Just thinking about the slightly sweet, nutty flavor of the freshly caught baby squid in that garlic sauce still makes my mouth water.

THE PAPARAZZI WERE much less intrusive after Mrs. Kennedy posed for the bathing suit photos, but they never completely went away. They really resented the continued presence of Benno Graziani, and the situation became even more complicated when a man named Gianni Agnelli arrived.

We were up at the villa when a magnificent yacht sailed into the Bay of Salerno. The eighty-two-foot-long, two-masted yawl glided in like a prima ballerina making her grand entrance onstage, with its spinnaker flying. It was unlike any other sailboat I had ever seen. The mainsail, spinnaker, and smaller mizzen sail were all a deep red color, like a fine Chianti, and as the yacht cut through the water, its sails stood out against the blue sea like beautiful scarves, flying in the wind.

I soon learned that this was the Agneta, and she belonged to the chairman of Fiat corporation, Gianni Agnelli. Agnelli and his wife, Marella, ran in the same circles as the Kennedys, and had known them for several years, but I had no previous knowledge that the Agnellis were meeting up with Mrs. Kennedy in Ravello. The yacht was anchored quite a ways from the shore, and it was then that Mrs. Kennedy came to tell me her plans.

“My friends the Agnellis have arrived on their yacht, and Lee and Stash and I are going to go aboard. They’re sending a small boat to the dock to take us out to it.”

“Okay, Mrs. Kennedy,” I said. “I’ll alert the police and let them know.” I tried to play it cool, but I was really looking forward to getting on that beautiful yacht.

I had never met Gianni Agnelli before, but he had a reputation for being a man with great charisma and impeccable style, a trendsetter. The Agneta with her long, lean lines, teak decks, and magnificent, richly varnished mahogany hull was every bit as sleek and classy as her owner.

Gianni Agnelli was standing on the deck of his yacht as we approached. Once we boarded, he gave Mrs. Kennedy and Lee each warm hugs. He was gracious and kind, and immediately introduced me to the three crew members, who gave me a tour of the yacht so that I could familiarize myself with the layout of the boat. They treated me like a guest as they showed me the master suite with a small marble fireplace, the two twin cabins and a Pullman berth, the main salon, galley, and several heads. The interior was as elegant as the exterior. When I returned to the deck, Mrs. Kennedy was so relaxed, laughing with her sister, Stash, Gianni, and his wife, Marella. It seemed her entire demeanor changed as soon as she boarded the yacht. It was so peaceful being out on the water, so far from the crowds and the constant flashes from the ever-present cameras. I had the feeling we were going to be spending considerable time aboard the Agneta.

Mrs. Kennedy and Gianni Agnelli followed by Clint Hill

As it turned out, Agnelli offered Mrs. Kennedy the use of the Agneta for the rest of her stay in Italy, and while he and his wife would join Mrs. Kennedy on occasion, much of the time he wasn’t there at all. The Italian police organizations—the Questura and Carabinieri—provided security coverage in addition to providing a chase boat and crew for our agents. To give Mrs. Kennedy and her guests as much privacy as possible, I was the only agent that stayed aboard the yacht.

One day Mrs. Kennedy decided she wanted to go to Paestum, an ancient Greco-Roman city about forty miles down the coast from Ravello, so we sailed down the coast on the Agneta , her red sails flying, creating a dramatic sight for the people ashore. When we got to Paestum, the captain had to anchor the yacht a hundred yards or more from the rocky shore. The only way to get ashore was by rowboat. I was somewhat concerned because the boat they hauled into the water was not much bigger than a bathtub. I didn’t see how we were going to get Mrs. Kennedy, Lee, a female friend who had joined us, me, and the oarsman all into that tiny boat, but rather than make two trips, we all crowded in, and the crewman rowed us to shore.

Founded in about 600 B.C., Paestum was originally called Poseidonia, in honor of Poseidon, the Greek god of the sea. In 273 B.C., the Romans, after taking control of the area from the Greeks, changed the name to Paestum. The area is known for its well-preserved temples, which rival the Parthenon in size and beauty, and this is what Mrs. Kennedy wanted to see and explore. She had read the history of the area and was regaling the rest of us with stories about the ancient civilizations as we walked through the temples and ruins. She took a deep interest in history and it never ceased to amaze me how much she knew about not only American history, but also the histories of so many other regions of the world.

After walking around the large site, we headed back to the coast, where the crewman was waiting for us with the rowboat.

There had been a few paparazzi following us around as we toured the ancient city, and they of course followed us as we made our way back to the shore. The sea was a little bit rougher than when we had arrived and in order to get into the boat, we had to take our shoes off, roll up our trousers, and wade into the water.

The oarsman was seated in the middle of the boat and I tried to hold the boat steady so Mrs. Kennedy and the two other women could get in gracefully.

“Do you need me to give you a hand, Mrs. Kennedy?” I asked. I was worried she might slip and the photographers would have a field day.

“No, thank you, Mr. Hill. I can do it just fine,” she said as she hoisted herself into a seated position on the edge of the boat and then swung her legs around. She was laughing, completely ignoring the photographers, just having a great time. By the time we all got into the boat, it was sitting quite low in the water, and as the oarsman struggled to get the boat in motion against the surf, it felt like we were going to flip over. A few of the photographers had waded into the water, and were snapping away.

“For Christsake!” I yelled. “Put down your goddamn cameras and somebody give us a push before we swamp!”